Renewal A Sterek love story
by lostinthefoliage
Summary: Excerpt: "As they descended from their high, Derek slumped back onto the bed, and spooned Stiles, nuzzling gently into his neck. He breathed in deeply, and growled with content. Stiles laughed sleepily "Do I smell nice?" "You smell like… mine" and he pulled him in closer. Stiles hummed happily, and they drifted off to sleep, bodies entwined and minds at peace."


**Renewal** – a Sterek love story

Excerpt: "As they descended from their high, Derek slumped back onto the bed, and spooned Stiles, nuzzling gently into his neck. He breathed in deeply, and growled with content. Stiles laughed sleepily "Do I smell nice?" "You smell like… mine" and he pulled him in closer. Stiles hummed happily, and they drifted off to sleep, bodies entwined and minds at peace."

_Stiles set the backpack and spade down on a grassy knoll, and surveyed the area. It was approaching midnight, and he'd have to move quickly to set up before the Wolf moon reached its apex. Swiftly and methodically he pulled the candles and herbs from his bag and began to encircle the site with Renewing Wolfsbane…_

Every step felt like it dragged as Stiles ponderously walked the streets around his home. He'd thought that the fresh air would help him escape from the thoughts whistling through his head, or perhaps an epiphany would make itself known among the bushes dotting the sidewalk… so far, no luck. It seemed a silly thing to be hung up on. After all, he considered himself progressive, the world was changing… and his dad… well, his dad would love him no matter what. Probably. Definitely. Fuck. He raked his nails over his head and grunted in frustration. In a way, he wished that Scott's werewolf drama would rear its ugly head again; at this point he'd rather face another kanima than the realities he struggled with now. He'd had the dream again last night; skin on skin, moaning, gasping, clutching, nipping, straining… stubble… and claws… and a muscular chest that burned hot against him, piercing blue eyes… fuck. He was getting aroused again. And there was old Mrs. McLaren watering her flowers. "Hey there!" he called as he hurriedly pressed himself up against her mid-height hedge, praying that he'd obscured his burgeoning crotch in time. "Those are some nice… some nice, erm… flowers that you got there. Lovely… leaves." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Righto. Gotta go… homework… tv… waiting. Keep it classy!" He threw in some finger guns for good measure. Maybe he should have asked her what she thought of his dreams. Perhaps he'd describe them to her next time he went past… then again, he'd have to get the boner situation under control before then. Derek Hale. Derek goddamned Hale. He'd been nothing but a pain in his ass since him and his uncle had arrived in town and ripped away any misconceptions Stiles'd held about being safe and secure in his suburban lifestyle. Ok, so he couldn't really blame Derek for his uncle. Still. Things were at least easier before they met him. And now this?! He was straight! He IS straight. He's had a crush on Lydia goddamned Martin for years. He stopped and tried to picture her naked body… soft, white skin… his hand softly sliding up her shirt… cupping a breast… those inviting lips. He opened his eyes, and looked down. "SERIOUSLY? NOTHING? Now you're just messing with me." He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his outburst – phew, the last thing he needed was word getting back to his dad that he had regular conservations with his little sergeant. Stiles meandered his way home, but couldn't quite bring himself to go inside. He was sure that at any moment his dad would look at him – straight in the eye – and know. Know what he was thinking and feeling. Did his dad think that he was gay? Did his friends? The thought made his insides crawl. If they did, he wished they'd give him some insight, because he sure as heck didn't know.

…_The candles were next, and had to be positioned just so, in a reverse spiral with the stone at its centre. He glanced furtively at the moon, and quickened his pace. The digging was sure to take far longer…_

Stiles burst through the door of the rundown manor, and glanced around wildly. "Scott? SCOTT. Where are you?" Footsteps sounded above, and Derek appeared at the top of the stairs. "Will you shut it? He's resting." "Will I… WILL I SHUT IT? You call me all dramatic-like, _Scott's been hurt, COME TO THE HOUSE_, and then expect me to" Stiles' next words were muffled – Derek had descended the stairs during his outburst and clamped his hand firmly over the offending mouth. "That. Is. Not. Shutting it." Derek intoned in a biting whisper. Stiles' shoulders slumped, and Derek released him. "What happened?" "An omega, a big one. We dealt with it. Scott took some nasty hits." "Isn't that YOUR job Mr. BIGALPHA? It's YOUR territory." Derek's eyes flashed red, and he turned away. "It's not that simple. It was crazed, unpredictable… things didn't go according to plan. It went for Erica, and Scott jumped in the way." Stiles went to say something more, but all that came out was a sigh. That sounded like Scott, always the hero, always taking stupid risks without thinking. "One of these days he's going to get himself killed, and I'll be stuck here with all the lunatic werewolves." Derek turned back, and those brilliant blue eyes bored holes into him. "I won't let that happen. Ever." The breath caught in Stiles' throat. Now was NOT the time to get distracted by his recently unleashed libido. He quickly glanced away; "I want to see him." Derek stared a moment longer, before nodding curtly and motioning at the stairs. "To the left, and the second door on your right." Stiles skirted around Derek cautiously, and focused on attaining a regular breathing pattern once more as he ascended the staircase. The wood groaned under his feet, and he wondered suddenly at the sense of wandering around a fire damaged house. Then again, not much made sense anymore, and if it could support Derek, with his stature, and broad shoulders, and muscular thighs… Stiles quickened his pace. When he entered the room, it was shrouded in darkness, and his eyes struggled to pierce the gloom. Finally he made out the still form in the centre, and as he crept forward and his eyes adjusted further he could see where long claw marks had rent the flesh, and the bite that had pierced Scott's shoulder. Carefully and quietly he lowered himself down and took Scott's hand in his own; relief flooded through him – Scott might look like death, but his skin was warm to the touch, and on closer inspection he could see patches where the wounds were already healing. It must have been a narrow miss this time, and he would berate Scott for his careless bravery when he recovered. He felt rather than heard Derek approaching, and turned to see him staring at Scott with a cocktail of anger and guilt. "It… it wasn't your fault." Derek flinched, and his gaze shifted to Stiles. "Scott is pack. Family. He is my responsibility." The anguish in those words made Stiles shudder involuntarily, and he was reminded how much had been lost here. Lifting himself up, he walked over to Derek and, surprising even himself, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank-you, for keeping him alive." Derek's face was passive as stone, but he nodded tightly, and Stiles was sure that he felt his tension diminish, if only slightly. Later, as he drove home, he pondered this new dimension that he had seen of the alpha - he genuinely cared. In fact, even as he tossed and turned in his bed later that night, he could think of little else.

…_He started with the shovel, digging into the ground to uncover what lay beneath. Although he would normally shy from such physical strain, he found the rhythmic work soothing, and the earth had remained soft…_

You had to give it to Lydia, that girl could sure throw a party – there was no way that she could know all the people there. Stiles weaved in and out of the crowds, trying to find a familiar face. Or at least a familiar face with a smile… perhaps that was too much to ask. It was hard to find enjoyment in parties like this when you've spent the better part of a year dealing with the very real danger of all those you love being murdered by supernatural entities. On second thoughts, maybe some liquor was just what Stiles needed. He settled with a tequila shot, and set off in search of Scott with a fresh drink in hand. On his third lap of the house (and fourth drink), he spotted him curled up in the corner with Allison, kissing earnestly. Lydia and Jackson were nowhere to be seen. Rolling his eyes, Stiles set off outside to sit by the pool – it was winter, and frigid outside, so at least there he'd be alone with his thoughts. He lifted up the bottle of beer he'd acquired from who knows where, and, staring into its depths, spoke aloud to himself; "Oooh Stiles, come to the party, it'll be greeeeaat. Lydia would loooove to see you, and we never get to hang out anymore! P.S. can we pick up Allison? THANKS BUDDY." He scoffed, and took a swig of the drink. "Hmph, and you call me the crazy one?" Stiles started as Derek emerged from the shadows. "What… what are you doing here?" "Well, the pups wanted to get out of the tram for once… I'm here to chaperone." They stared at each other for a moment. Then a smile began to tug at the corners of Stiles' mouth, a chuckle escaped, and soon he was rolling on the patio, laughter racking his body and tears streaming down his face. Derek stared at him quizzically. "I don't see what's so funny…" "THIS!" Stiles choked out finally "THIS IS MY LIFE NOW. A werewolf chaperone, just in case, I dunno, they decide their date looks just a little bit TOO delicious?!". With that, he started giggling once more. "You're drunk" Derek stated plainly. His laughter subsiding, Stiles sighed loudly, still greatly amused. "Yes… yes I do believe I am. You sir, should try it! Come on, when was the last time you let loose, cracked a beer, I dunno – SMILED?" Derek raised an eyebrow. "Ugh, you look just like Mrs McLaren when you do that" "Excuse me?" "Never mind." With that, Stiles gulped down the remainder of his beer and stumbled to his feet. "Gonna… gonna go find some more… more of the… alcomahol" he exclaimed, but as he turned he staggered slightly, hit into a chair, and was thrown into the pool by his own momentum. He surfaced, panting for breath, and came face to face with Derek leering over him. The corners of Derek's mouth twitched, and he turned his face as he smirked. "OOOH so NOW you smile. Figures. Don't s'pose you could do something useful, like, I dunno, get me out of here?" "You are ridiculous", nevertheless, Derek reached his arm down and helped to hoist Stiles out of the water. As he was pulled out, he tripped forward, and Derek caught and steadied him. For a moment, Stiles' head cleared and heart raced, their close proximity punctuated by the rhythmic thudding. He cautiously detached himself, and raised his eyes to Derek's, painfully aware that he was being read like an open book; Derek stared back quizzically. Stiles felt himself flush red and he went to stammer something, anything to break the silence, but was saved by a drunken couple stumbling out the door. The tension snapped, and Stiles averted his eyes, murmured a farewell and stalked quickly inside, a trail of dripping water following him. Lydia was going to have a fit.

…_He wondered if he'd get a chance to thank Lydia, it was of course her own experience that had inspired him to seek out a supernatural solution to his problem. He vaguely wished that he knew someone with more experience with Wiccan rituals, but he'd make do…_

"Stiles." He glanced up from the blade of grass that he'd been observing for the better part of an hour to find Derek towering over him. Stiles sighed. "This town is too small. What do you want?" "The others are worried about you. Apparently you haven't been yourself lately" "AND? What's it to you?" Derek settled next to him on the bench. "Stiles, this is what it means to be pack. You can't shut them out. Scott's been beside himself with worry." "Scott's your problem now, not mine." He heard Derek chuckle, and sigh with exasperation. "Why do you do this to yourself? You have people. They care about you. Talk to them. Hell, you can talk to ME." Stiles' eyes darted towards him. "Does that mean you care?" he half-jested. "Don't. Push it." A flicker of a smile crossed Stiles' face, but he scowled quickly to hide it. Goddamned Derek. Ruining a perfectly good sulk. "So, you're gay, or bi. Whatever. They won't care." Stiles flinched, and burned with embarrassment, burying his face in his hands to hide the red glow. He felt Derek's hand on his shoulder. "Stiles, it's ok." Stiles exhaled and stood suddenly, taking a few steps away from any further contact with Derek, which tended to send his thought processes into a tailspin. "You don't understand, this isn't what I wanted, what I planned. I was going to grow up, and marry Lydia, and have kids, and then YOU came along and all this is happening." He felt his eyes prickle as his emotions threatened to swamp him, and looked away, steadying himself. "This is just… unfair." Derek stood then, and stepped towards Stiles, clasping his hands on his shoulders. "Stiles, look at me." Stiles mumbled something, and looked to the ground. "LOOK AT ME." He glanced up and met those piercing, intense, blue eyes. "No-one, NO-ONE has the life they thought they would. My family is gone. Scott is a werewolf. Jackson turns into a goddamned lizard. Erica hasn't had an easy day her entire life. Yes, it sucks. Yes, IT IS HARD. That's why we need each other. That's why we are pack. And yes, that includes you. Nothing at all is changed by this, and you need to realise that." Derek released him, and sat down heavily on the bench once more. "Now, are you gonna sit and talk or not? I'm not going to offer again." Stiles sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "You're pretty good at those speeches, for the strong, silent type." So he sat, and they talked well into the afternoon. Well, mostly he talked. But Derek listened.

…_under normal circumstances, the silence would have been oppressive. Here, Stiles welcomed it, he owned it. It was strange to think how he had grown, and changed in the last year. He stopped and listened carefully for any sign of the others. He had drugged them well, but would have to be watchful. He couldn't afford to have any interruptions… _

It was Christmas afternoon, and the pack had assembled at the old Hale house for… a gift exchange. Stiles still couldn't quite believe it was happening. He'd been the one to suggest it, a way to celebrate the family that they had become despite the horror and pain of the past year; and, incredibly, Derek had agreed (although he later looked regretful when Stiles yelled "It's a Christmas miracle!" and ran out to get a box of tinsel from the car). The normally decrepit lounge had been transformed; Lydia had 'augmented' (completely re-done) Stiles' attempt at decorating, and the room was glittering with decorations, tinsel, and lights (Jackson had sourced a generator specifically for this; he never could say no to Lydia, and of course money wasn't an issue). Most magnificent of all was the large pine that dominated a corner of the room – hand-picked, cut, and shifted by Derek himself. He had decorated it, a few old, slightly rusted baubles hanging low from the branches, and even Lydia was charmed enough to let them be. Scott and Allison brought rugs and blankets in lieu of chairs, and Stiles had spent the previous day with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac baking an array of festive treats for the occasion. Although the cold outside was biting, inside it was pleasantly warm, a benefit, Stiles supposed, to having a pack of werewolves crammed into a single room. The gift-giving itself was chaos, a secret Santa arrangement with gag presents appearing to be the name of the game. Paper flew around the room as gifts were ripped open; Lydia was burying her face, shoulders shaking with laughter as Jackson faux-modelled a pink G-string; Allison was firing rubber arrows at Isaac from a plastic bow; Stiles thought he saw actual joy on Derek's face as he held up a "World's Best Dad" mug and shook his head bemusedly at the pups; he himself hid a grin as Erica opened the pink dog collar dotted with love hearts that he had sourced especially for her. A present was passed to him, and he quickly shredded the paper to reveal… his heart stopped. Staring up at him was his mother, or rather, a photo of her, framed by ebony wood. It appeared to be a candid shot, her face creased into a smile as she shared a joke with someone nearby. It must have been a party of some sort – she was dressed in a forest-green dress, her favourite, he remembered, that she only ever brought out for special occasions. She was stunning. Stiles gulped, and tears rose to his eyes unbidden. He glanced up from the photo, and through the cacophony of smiles and laughter he met Derek's intense gaze. Averting his eyes, he gripped the frame to his chest and hastily made an exit before his emotions overwhelmed him entirely. He found himself in the room where Scott had recovered all those months ago, and stared down at the photo, soaking up every detail as an occasional tear pattered the glass. Eventually footsteps found him, and he turned to find Derek staring, concern lining his face. "I'm sorry Stiles, I didn't mean to hurt you, I just wanted to-" "What? No!" Stiles sniffed, and wiped his nose against his sleeve. "This… is incredible. I don't think anyone has ever given me anything like this. It's… I… but how?" Relief flooded Derek's features. "My older brother Trystan was a photographer of sorts. He'd sometimes cover birthdays or weddings… I found these in storage after the fire. Looking through them I found this, and… I thought you should have it." For once, Stiles was at a loss for words. He stared down at the picture once more. "She was beautiful" Derek observed. "Yeah, she was." Stiles looked up at Derek; "Oh boy, I'm going in for a hug" and before he could protest Stiles had embraced Derek, trying to convey the depth of his gratitude with that single motion. Derek stiffened, but then relaxed into the hug, and surprised Stiles by encircling him with his own arms and pulling him in tighter. "You're welcome", Derek whispered. They stayed like this for a moment, and then a moment longer, and Stiles was loathe to leave the warmth and comfort of those arms, or the scent of pine and earth that clung to Derek. Eventually they detached, and Stiles stared at his shoes, trying to find words to break the silence. "Sorry about the… party and stuff. I know it's not really your thing" Suddenly Derek was laughing, and Stiles looked up in confusion. "Stiles, are you serious? This is the best Christmas I've had in years. Thank you." "Oh…" Stiles mumbled, blushing. "Well… Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas Stiles", and he cupped Stiles' face in his hands, and kissed him.

…_For the umpteenth time he checked his pocket for the seed that he'd procured (or more specifically, stolen) from the vet, and sighed with relief as he thumbed it lightly. He retrieved it and held it up the light, surprised again by its ordinary appearance. It was peculiar that something so simple could do so much, but then again Stiles was more than used to the bizarre…_

Stiles woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, and opened his eyes to the piercing blue of Derek's. "Mornin'", he mumbled, and Derek smiled. That smile. It would kill him one day, he was sure. In the weeks following Christmas, it had made its first true, unadulterated appearance, a response to Stiles' awkward attempts at werewolf pickup lines (he still cringed thinking back to it – Baby, is it a full moon? 'cause you are making me hooowl!). In the subsequent months he'd fallen head over heels for that smile, and was constantly delighted by his ability to draw it out of him. To say that it was still a surprise that Derek reciprocated his feelings was an understatement, and Stiles made a point of pinching himself every now and again, just in case. Yet here he was. He smiled in return, and nuzzled Derek's shoulder. "Do we have to get up?" he complained. "No. I'm not done looking at you yet." At this, Stiles grinned, and pressed himself close against Derek, shutting his eyes once more and basking in the warmth. "Of course, it IS Monday." Stiles' eyes flew open, and he twisted to grab his phone. "Fuck! I'm late!" He scrambled to get out of the bed, got caught in the sheets, and plunged onto the floor, emerging seconds later with pants in one hand and shoes in the other. He was in the midst of hurriedly putting these on when he caught sight of Derek trying hard to suppress his laughter. "What? What's so funny?" "You. You're ridiculous. You're my ridiculous Stiles." At that, Stiles jumped back onto the bed, and clambered on top of Derek, leaning down and drawing him in for a long, heated kiss. "You make me so happy." There was that smile again, this time mischievous. "Stiles…" Derek whispered. "Yeah?" "It's… it's Sunday today." Confusion clouded Stiles' face, and his lips parted in shock. "You! Your sense of humour is the WORST!", but laughed all the same, and soon Derek joined him in laughter and they tussled and rolled on the bed. They came to a stop once more, with Derek positioned over Stiles, and the look in Derek's eyes cut his laughter short. Their lips locked, gingerly, almost lazily, and he could feel Derek smile through the kiss. Soon Derek shifted, and began to move down Stiles' body, gently kissing his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his thigh. His breathing became laboured, and he moaned softly as Derek teased him, kissing and nipping around his straining desire. When Derek finally took him into his mouth, his eyelids fluttered and he arched his back in ecstasy, closing his eyes as pulses of pleasure flushed through his body. Derek soon had his hands clenching the sheets, and as his breathing became more urgent he gasped "Derek." He felt Derek lift up and position himself over him once more. Opening his eyes, he met Derek's gaze, and saw his passion mirrored there. "Ummm… that didn't mean st-"; he was interrupted with a fierce kiss, and he felt Derek's shaft, pressed hot and hard against his own. Stiles thrust up against Derek and felt him growl, echoing his lust and need. They gyrated, their hips rolling in rhythm, gasping for breath as their bodies intertwined. Soon Derek shifted and entered Stiles, panting, eyes flickering as the pleasure engulfed him. Stiles' senses were afire, his mind enveloped in a haze, and as Derek's pace renewed their earlier frenzy he lost himself in their fervour, biting at Derek's lip, clawing at his back, shuddering at the low, guttural groans that he elicited from his lover. They thrust and moaned until they were overwhelmed, and rode the waves of climax together, Stiles' head buried in the crook of Derek's neck as the world stopped, and it seemed as though it was only them in that moment, forgotten by time. As they descended from their high, Derek slumped back onto the bed, and spooned Stiles, nuzzling gently into his neck. He breathed in deeply, and growled with content. Stiles laughed sleepily "Do I smell nice?" "You smell like… mine", and he pulled him in closer. Stiles hummed happily, and they drifted off to sleep, bodies entwined and minds at peace.

They awoke later that afternoon as Jackson burst through the door, breathing heavily and eyes darting. Derek barked "This had better be important!" "Remember that omega?" Jackson paused, struggling to catch his breath. "It was no omega." The blood drained from Stiles' face. "What… what do you mean?" "Its pack is here, and they want blood". Derek swore, and jumped out of bed, racing to throw his clothes on. Stiles hurriedly followed suit, and was running out the door after them when Derek abruptly stopped and turned to face him. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" "What do you mean? There is no way I'm letting you go alone" "Stiles we don't have time to argue, there is a goddamned pack of wolv-" "I KNOW. So let's go do something about it." Derek's shoulders slumped, and he sighed in resignation. "You know that I love you, right?" Stiles gulped. "Of course." "Then you'll forgive me." Stiles cursed Derek, and cursed his slow reflexes as he hit the floor, his eyes dancing as he lost consciousness.

… _The time was approaching, and he'd waited too long for further patience. He retrieved matches from his backpack and set about lighting the candles, and the flames danced of their own accord, urging him on…_

It was raining that Sunday, but Stiles hardly noticed. It was hard for him to know what was real when everything was so muted, so bleak. It was peaceful, in a way. Gone was the turmoil and rage, the maelstrom of emotions, the constant pinching and pleading to wake up, to just wake up. Now, there was grey. It was safer here, almost comforting. It certainly hurt less. He wondered, vaguely, if he should be writing something. They were probably expecting him to speak. Perhaps he'd forgotten how? That would be convenient, in a way, because it sounded easier than trying to choose words that wouldn't seem hollow, and forced. His dad would be coming up soon, to see if he was dressed, ask if he was okay, and offer to talk. Stiles moved to the mirror, and practiced his brave smile. Hopefully that would do.  
The others were already there when they arrived. A small party, of course. The girls were shedding tears, the men comforting them. It seemed almost obscene to see so much emotion, and he struggled to reconcile it with the emptiness within himself. It was a small headstone – understated, but elegant. He wondered how much it cost. Perhaps he'd ask, afterwards. Scott wandered over, and clasped his shoulder. Brave smile. The minister began to drone. He wondered what tools they used, to make the headstone. He'd have to look it up. The writing was certainly elegant, and would require a great deal of skill. It was Scott's turn. He was ticking all the boxes with his speech. Mentor. Protector. His head began to pound. Friend. Great sacrifice. He clasped his hands together. The grey was shifting, but he clung to it, suddenly afraid of what would happen if he lost it, if he allowed the colour to return. There was silence, a moment for anyone to speak. The tension inside him grew further. The moment passed, and they began to lower the casket into the ground. Suddenly, panic began to build inside him – he couldn't leave it like this, without saying goodbye - and as the last of the haze was swept away, anger and grief engulfed him. "Wait. WAIT!" he intoned, and then shouted. They paused. Stiles staggered forward. "I… I… Derek." He felt his dad shift behind him and felt a hand on his back. "Derek was… Derek IS" He tripped over his words. "He loved us. He loved all of us. We were his family, his pack, and that meant more to him than anything." Another pause. "I don't know how this… Why didn't you let me-? I should have been there!" A sob racked his body. "I love you. Oh god I miss you. Don't leave me here, I can't, I don't want to-" With that, he collapsed to his knees, and cried. He wailed, and cursed, and the world around him twisted, the colours senseless. He could never again be the reason for that smile.

_The last of the candles were lit, and the full moon was high in the sky, bathing the cemetery in its eerie glow. It was time. For all its preparation, the ritual itself was a relatively simple procedure, and Stiles was eager to begin. He lowered himself into the open grave, and heaved the lid of the coffin aside. There he was. He clambered onto Derek's lifeless body. Out of his backpack he pulled the silver chains, and encircled his wrists with them, allowing the free ends to drape over Derek's chest. Finally, he slipped a keen knife from his pocket and glanced to the skies, clutching the seed in one hand. The moon was directly overhead. He hardly noticed the pain as the blood flowed from his arms; his eyes were set on the figure below him, his lifeblood seeping down the silver chains and staining the funeral tux. Although he began to feel faint, Stiles did not falter, as he knew that absolute commitment was vital, or it would all be for nought. Finally, the weakness claimed him, and he toppled forwards onto his dead love. Out of his hand fell the seed, drenched in red, shimmering in the moonlight; Stiles smiled as his breathing slowed, and the world froze, and the darkness crept, and finally his body stilled. _

_The old magics drew their power from the moon and earth, and time passed without consequence before these behemoths of nature. The pack visited frequently at first, honouring the memories of their friends and guardians, shedding tears upon the desolate soil beneath their feet. Yet, as with all tragedy, the pain of remembering became too much, and soon the gravestones were alone in their solitude, year in, year out. On the tenth anniversary of Stiles' passing the winds of change blew through the cemetery. At the very centre of the spiral he had formed so long ago, a seedling emerged from the ground, and, in time, slowly but surely, a magnificent tree rose from the grave, drawing its strength and nourishment from the cycles of the moon, the current of the earth, and the memory of sacrifice. Passersby would comment on its regal stature and wonder at what beauty hid within its plentiful buds, and yet it seemed that nature had paused, for the buds never opened, and the tree remained bare of flower and fruit, and soon the years forgot them once more. Then, a full century after the ritual, as the Wolf moon rose towards its apex, at last time unfroze. In unison, the buds opened to reveal flowers of exotic beauty, pitch black petals offset by a vibrant red centre. Under the tree, hands clasped, were two men, eyes of piercing blue meeting dancing brown. _

_Derek's eyes were wide with awe as he stared at the world around him, breathing in deeply, savouring the fresh air and delighting in the feeling of grass beneath his feet. His eyes settled on Stiles, who looked apprehensive, unsure if he could trust his senses. Derek's expression grew solemn. "Stiles, I am so sorr-" "I forgive you" Stiles whispered hoarsely. The smile on Derek's face was that of gratitude, joy, and love, and at last the colour returned to Stiles' world, his heart pounding in his ears as he dared to feel again. He broke into a grin so wide that it hurt, and for a moment they stood still, basking in their shared joy, before hurtling into an embrace, wrapping their arms tightly around one another and swearing to never again let go. The moon shifted from its pedestal in the sky, and they wept with sadness for the time they'd lost, and the family who were gone, and with joy for the years to come, reunited, a second chance. As the first rays of light swept over the horizon, they walked hand in hand towards the town they had once known, uncertain as to the future, but certain in each other. Strolling through the forest, Derek caught a scent that seemed oddly familiar, and they followed it through old paths and new roads until they came to the old Hale house. The manor remained, but it had been transformed, the damage repaired and its grandeur restored. Derek stopped and stared in disbelief. "It's exactly how I remember it being before the fire." Stiles grasped his arm and pulled him forward urgently. As they ascended the stairs to the porch, his eye was caught by a sculpture in the adjacent garden – a boy in red, standing straight and tall, with a huge wolf encircling him. His eyes prickled, and he wiped at them as Derek knocked loudly on the door. A woman answered, her dark curly locks falling onto bronzed skin, eyes soft and kind but glinting with silver..._


End file.
